Page 88 of Conjure

“Your body reacted to stimuli. You don’t have to be ashamed. You’re not the only person that’s happened to. It doesn’t mean that you wantedhim.”

“I hurt you.”

“No,” he chokes, pressing his lips to mine before I can object. His tongue delves into my mouth, and I gasp. His kiss is biting, forceful, and everything I need. He devours me while the sun settles behind the trees and the crickets come out to sing in the summer heat. He steals the very last breath from my lungs. Then, when oblivion arrives to take me away, he breathes life back into me.

With a final peck to my lips, he says, “He’s dead now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

I gulp and then flick my eyes up to his. “Something killed him.”

He peers into my soul, my chin still gripped tightly.

When he says nothing, I let the truth flow from my lips. “Something evil.”

Grinding his teeth, he releases my chin and trails his fingers down the side of my jaw and throat until his touch lingers at my racing pulse point.

“Something that wants me,” I finish.

I knew back there that whatever entered through the window on a wisp of summer breeze wouldn’t hurt me.

Not yet, anyway.

Not until it has killed everything that stands in its way.

“Shut the doors,” I order. “It travels in the wind.”

He gazes at me for a brief moment longer, then slips from the truck and shuts the door. I watch him round the vehicle before my eyes land on a figure in the road.

The axe dangles from his fingers, his gaze peering at me through the windshield. His shirt is unbuttoned, and a vagrant breeze plays with the lapels, lifting them away from his tanned skin.

As the truck rocks, he looks over at Wilfred’s property.

“Let’s get you home.” Dominic cranks the engine, and exhaust fumes fill the air.

I say nothing as the truck drives forward.

Just before the man on the road disperses into thin air, like that night Dominic’s father lost control of the car and careened into the river, his eyes find mine. Dark and sorrowful.

TWENTY-FIVE

DOMINIC

“You better not fucking hurt herwith that,” I growl, eyeing the needle in Gwen’s hand.

She gives me a deadpan look. “I’m about to stitch her up without anesthetic. Of course, it’ll hurt.”

Gwen looked like a ghost when she opened the door to find me covered in blood, clutching Camryn to my chest. We had nowhere to go. Gwen was the only person who could help us.

Now, we’re in her kitchen, having cleared the table.

“Are you sure you can do this?” I ask her when she blows out a steadying breath, the needle trembling in her hand.

“Do you want me to be honest, Dom?” She points to Camryn on the table. “You should have taken her to the hospital. I volunteer with my mom at the vet clinic on weekends. I’m not a qualified nurse. I’ve been shown once or twice how to stitch up the odd cat or dog. I mean, we’re lucky my mom even has equipment here.”

“We can’t go to the hospital,” Camryn replies, wincing with pain as she tries to look over her shoulder to see what Gwen is doing.

I stroke her matted hair away from her damp forehead while Gwen stares at the deep gash, needing to reassure myself that she’s okay.

“Wilfred is dead…. It’ll raise too many questions if we go to the hospital.” Camryn looks away, focusing her eyes on me, and I take her bloodied hand in mine, watching Gwen place her latex-gloved hand on Camryn’s leg.